


I'm a wizard, Harry

by TuppingLiberty



Series: Tlib February Ficlet Challenge 2018 [18]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bartender!Eggsy, M/M, slight sugar daddy overtones maybe, wizard!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 18:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13886325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: The cute older guy that comes and hangs at his pub finally asked him out. Hey - did that glass float?FFC Day 24: Hogwarts AU





	I'm a wizard, Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Playing fast and loose with the rules of the Wizarding World, just my speed

“Mr. Fancy’s here again, you takin’ ‘em, Eggs?”

Eggsy looks up from the glass he’d been drying, and sure enough, there’s the refined older man, Mr. Hart,  _ Mr. Fancy, _ because he’s always dressed impeccably. Eggsy’s not quite sure why this bloke likes this particular pub, it’s not like they’re elegant or anything. But he tips like a dream, so Eggsy just nods at his coworker and turns to put the kettle on. 

A few minutes later, and he’s setting piping hot water down in front of Mr. Hart, his favorite blend in the infuser, and precisely one finger of the finest whiskey they carry. Well, have carried since Mr. Hart regularly started requesting it.  Did Eggsy mention Mr. Hart tips well? 

“And how’s your day then?” he asks with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eye. Maybe Eggsy has worked hard to prepare everything exactly like Mr. Hart likes, but flirting a little never hurt his tip chances either. 

“Hello, Eggsy.” Mr. Hart only looks up from the paper to give him a brief smile. 

Eggsy peers over his shoulder. It’s weird. Eggsy would bet a thousand pounds that Mr. Hart is in some type of fancy business, what with his fancy suit and his fancy accent and his fancy loads of money. But does Mr. Hart bring in something like the Financial News? No, his reading material of choice is always a stack of the seediest tabloids England has to offer. Eggsy snorts at a headline. “I’m carrying an alien baby? Where do they find these people?” He continues reading. “Tornado in Suffolk...that one almost looks normal.” 

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Mr. Hart’s tone doesn’t really invite further comment, so Eggsy straightens and prepares to leave, but Mr. Hart calling his name has him turning around again. “Thank you,” he says, smile lasting a little longer this time. 

“At your service, Mr. Hart.” He tips his cap jauntily, and Mr. Hart’s smile turns into an appreciative grin, he’s fairly sure. 

 

Mr. Hart breaks routine, staying long past when his normal cuppa and whiskey are gone. Eggsy drops by a couple of times, seeing if he wants more, but Mr. Hart seems content with his tabloids. 

The next time he sweeps by, though, Mr. Hart stops him with a soft call of his name again. “Eggsy, would you mind if I asked when your shift is over?” 

Eggsy smirks, just a little, and wipes his rag over Mr. Hart’s table casually. “Wouldn’t mind ‘t'all, really.” 

Mr. Hart gives him that look that he likes to give Eggsy when Eggsy is being particularly cheeky, like he knows exactly what Eggsy is doing. Eggsy would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see what happened if he managed to push all of Mr. Hart’s buttons just right. 

This time, though, Mr. Hart just raises a brow. 

“In ‘bout fifteen,” Eggsy answers. 

“Would you like to get something to eat with me?” 

“I could stand to eat.” 

A pretty blush crosses over Mr. Hart’s cheeks, and Eggsy is fascinated by it. Mr. Hart nervously brushes at the stack of papers on the table, and one of his hands accidentally sweeps the whiskey glass off the table. 

Time seems to slow down, or at least the glass does, but it must just be a trick of the light. Eggsy catches the glass before it reaches the floor, happy with his fast reflexes. “That was close,” he murmurs, brow furrowing. it’s not like Mr. Hart, the precisely precise Mr. Hart, to be so clumsy. He chalks it up to nervousness. “I’ll see you in fifteen?”

Far from looking nervous, Mr. Hart is peering at him with keenly observant eyes. It’s a bit unnerving, if Eggsy’s honest with himself. “It’s a date,” Mr. Hart agrees quietly. 

 

When Eggsy is bundled up in his hoodie, his wallet flush with tips that will mostly go to Mum to help with bills, and maybe to a treat for sis, and maybe some for himself for a guy’s night, he stops by Mr. Hart’s table, still running the calculations of exactly how much he could spend in his head. 

Mr. Hart’s soft, “Ready?” breaks him out of it though. 

“Ready. What’d’ya want to eat?”

Mr. Hart slides out of the booth. “I have a place in mind, actually, if you don’t mind a bit of a walk.” 

Eggsy shrugs. “Sounds fine, Mr. Hart.” 

“Maybe you should call me Harry.”

“Harry,” Eggsy repeats, is rewarded with a smile. 

Their arms brush as they walk in the chilly city air. Eggsy is sort of surprised to find out that Harry doesn’t have a car, but relies on public transportation, apparently. “I appreciate the finer things in life, Eggsy, when I also expose myself to the...less fine things.” 

“Is that what I am to you, then? One of those less fine things to make your regular dates seem lovely?”

To his surprise, Harry laughs. “Oh no, Eggsy. You’re a diamond in the rough.” 

He supposes he’s mollified, as Harry steers the conversation to Eggsy’s childhood, and his own. It sounds like they couldn’t be farther apart. Harry went to some sort of private school in the Scottish countryside. Eggsy...didn’t exactly graduate. Harry was the bookish sort; Eggsy had mostly attended, when he attended, for the sports. 

But talking with Harry is stupidly easy, somehow, and the walk passes before he really realizes it. Harry pauses them in an alley, looking up at a dirty swinging pub sign. 

“The Leaky Cauldron?” Eggsy is hesitant, to say the least. “Bruv, I’m sorry I implied you were slumming it at our place, if this is where you take dates.” 

Harry grins at him, nodding, as if something has been confirmed. He nods briskly, and holds the door open for Eggsy, who buries his hands in his hoodie  pockets and hunches his shoulders in discomfort. 

The place looks a lot nicer on the inside, to be sure. Smells amazing, too, homey, warm. The clientele is… a little strange. There seem to be a lot of people in robes, and weird pointed hats that look like something he’s seen on Halloween episodes of American shows on TV. He frowns, confused, blinking and rubbing his eyes when a bottle of some type of alcohol flies off the shelf and- and doesn’t go crashing to the floor, but instead ends up in the hand of the bartender, like he summoned it with The Force or something. 

“Wha-” 

“Come along, Eggsy,” Harry says briskly, pulling at his arm. He pulls him all the way to the back of the pub, and out the back door, into another alley, closed off with a brick wall. 

Eggsy frowns, looking back at The Leaky Cauldron. “Harry, what- did I see-”

Harry pulls something long and thin - a stick? - out from the inside of his suit jacket and taps the wall in a pattern that Eggsy quickly memorizes. 

The bricks start to slide apart, like- like magic, creating an arched doorway into the space beyond. Eggsy gulps, knowing his eyes must be bulging. Beside him, Harry is watching him coolly, that stupid eyebrow still arched, as if he’s challenging Eggsy not to freak out. 

Eggsy swallows again, and accepts the challenge, squaring his shoulders. 

Harry grins, and nods in approval. They step through the arch together, and Eggsy sees a busy row of shops full of - full of sights he’s having trouble wrapping his head around at the moment. 

“Let me be frank,” Harry murmurs. “I’ll rip off the bandaid quickly and offer you a lolly.” 

Eggsy rolls his eyes, even as he watches an owl nearly side-swipe his head. 

“Magic is real, we’ve been hiding it from the Muggles for ages, and you’re a wizard, Eggsy.” 

No, Eggsy wasn’t ready for that challenge, it turns out. His knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground on his butt. Harry crouches beside him, hand on his arm. “You’re apparently a late bloomer and woefully untrained, but we can change that. Your father was, too, you know.” 

Eggsy’s eyes can’t get any wider. “What?”

“We graduated from Hogwarts together.” 

“Hog-” 

Harry waves that away. “We thought you were a squib, that’s why you never got your letter. But, turns out, just a late bloomer.” 

Eggsy’s cheeks go hot. “Am not.” 

Harry outright laughs. “It has nothing to do with sexual experience, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh.” He accepts Harry’s hand to stand up. “Um. So…?”

“So. Welcome to the wizarding world, Eggsy.” 

“I think I need a drink.” 

Harry nods, pulling him back to The Leaky Cauldron. “I get that a lot.” 

“Do you break this, uh, type of news to a lot of people?”

“Actually, I do. I own the robe shop back in Diagon Alley.” Harry nods behind them. “But I also work for the Ministry of Magic. Since I’m Muggle-born, I do a good job of blending in, you see. And there are often people, just like you, who slip through the cracks. I help them get trained before their magic does something...disruptive. Destructive.” 

“So you were...watching me?” Eggsy is suddenly viscerally disappointed that this isn’t a date. Of course it was too good to be true, a hot, wealthy older bloke taking him out. Lord knows he could use a Sugar Daddy  - or hell, even just a fuck buddy, maybe a boyfriend, Eggsy’s not super picky - not …whatever the fuck this is.

Harry signals the bartender and settles them down at a table. “Yes.” 

Eggsy sighs. “Got it.” 

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Eggsy.” 

“Right, yeah.” 

“I, perhaps...drew out my observation a bit too long.” 

“Hmm?” Eggsy looks up. 

“I should have probably told you months ago but I’ve been, uh. Enjoying our time together.” Now Harry is blushing, and it’s pretty damned adorable, and Eggsy perks up. 

“Oh, well. That’s nice to hear. Not sure I believe you about the whole magic thing, though,” he says, even as their drink orders fly across the room to land at their table. “Fancy trick,” he mutters, utterly unconvinced. 

“Have you ever had something happen that you can’t explain? A miraculous stroke of luck? Like catching the glass, earlier tonight.”

Eggsy chews his lip. “Maybe,” he begrudgingly allows. “But I’m not...I’m not  _ special.” _

“Oh, Eggsy.” Harry takes a sip of his whiskey. “I can assure you that you are.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I kind of dug this so I might do more? We'll see.


End file.
